Poetry Chess 2: Todd vs Brandon

[brandontoh]

Alright. I have enough time for a poem, so here's my move. Will be more active next week. =)

For The First Time
Qe4+

Light strokes, soft licks, and my body purrs.
I can only tremble and stutter,
she puts me under gentlest arrest.

A million thoughts speed past,
my mind the blurry highway;
am I asleep, is this real?

We lock together, hands and body,
then everything melt, like a dream fading.
And I start to melt as well, into her.
Or is it her into me?

[Todd]

I really liked "my mind the blurry highway"

Here's my move and response poem.


The First Time

Qe2

Feels like 14 clowns
in a compact car
wondering what to do
with their hands,

and is never as good
as the second time.

[brandontoh]

Hmm. Don't think clowns have trouble knowing what to do with their hands. =x It's quite a cute reply though. But really, everyone's first time is terrible.

Working on my poem now. =)

[brandontoh]

Granny
Qxc2

Gray hair,
hunched back,
wrinkles,
walking stick.

Life leaves imprints on its canvas
with too much colours, too much fervour.
It evolves from hyperrealism to impressionism,
leaving only shadows of previous portraits
on the same canvas.

Losses,
fatigue,
worries,
obstinance.

Scars of when she got her back against the ocean,
of when trials and challenges excite,
and of when she could still taste the sweetness of life.
Time left apathy, took away the sparkle from her eyes and the curve of her lips
when she realized she outlived all her sons.

[Todd]

Hey Brandon, some cool stuff here. Your last line implies your move (which was nice). I think that a stronger starting place might be to excise the shorter lines.

Here's my move and poem:

In the Box

Nc3

There is a scorpion
and a key.
Perhaps they are
the same.

[brandontoh]

I can't seem to make the lines as concise as I want them to be. It's quite annoying. >< Will be looking at this one again after the game though. Strangely, I can see how your poem and the move actually link. Is it referring to how after the knight moves your bishop is protected?

---

Clockwork
Nd5

A god will never have you take your own life,
he’ll let the world do it for you.

Talent will never be enough,
but hard work is futile too at times.

Ambition and being realistic get you to places,
but wandering around gets you somewhere too.

A devil will never murder you,
he’ll let living do it from the inside.

Think too much, and paradoxes will consume.
Curiosity is a blessing and a curse.

Think too little, get controlled blissfully.
Ignorance is a blessing and a curse.

Either way, all stay as cogs in a machine,
with occasional hope-filled sparks.

[Todd]

This one of yours has promise, once you distil it down a bit. I have my move, but have to get ready for work. The poem will be later.

[Todd]

Always Winter

d3

Jadis

The first flakes were red, not white.
Before light, before night, there was
an everlasting tree.

Before the tree,
if you held a stone
to your ear
It would whisper

of seeds beneath soil--
the buds restless.

If you warmed the stone
between your hands,
it would pulse like the heart
of a traitor,

like a blush
on your too-white skin.

[Truerenigma]

Hello fellow chess player! The poems now too bad..

[brandontoh]

Todd: That reads like a love poem, except not really. It's kind of abstract as well, and I actually enjoy that.

trueenigma: Hi! =) Yeah, I know the pieces I post here are really bad as of late. Hopefully after some tweaks and fixes, maybe even overhauls, they'll be better. That will come after the game though.

Bystander
Nb4

He lived in a cloud.
He saw the good, the bad, and the ugly,
but he didn’t judge.
He just felt and indulged
in whatever magic occurring inside him
until he’s old.

What he observed,
was a grander design
and beings not realizing that,
blissful, beautiful in their own ways.

What he heard,
was ceaseless cacophony
taking on different forms
even in silence.

What he smelt,
was variety.
Some good, most bad,
but the good tends to stay with him more.

What he saw didn’t bother him much,
because he’s happy, and the emotion is real.
That’s enough for him.

What he heard was annoying,
but he got used to it,
and his hearing worsened anyway.

What he smelt let him remember,
especially the good ones.
So he takes in the scent wherever he goes.

What he felt, was
loneliness.

[Todd]

Hello fellow chess player! The poems now too bad..

Hello,

They're more creativity exercise, less poem at this stage.

---

Okay Brandon, if you were to rewrite this one. I'd suggest not making me ask, is HE Clint Eastwood? Beyond that you may want to scramble the senses a bit. Have him hear smells and see tastes. I like the final loneliness idea as long as you ground it with concrete imagery.

I'll address your move of the knight with my move and poem.

[Todd]

Brandon: Upon reflecting on your poem more, I get a read of God and dementia or Alzheimer's for an aging loved one. There's a good poem in the idea.

---

The Secret of the Moon

0-0

Young love is for the light of the moon.
Something mothers know, and daughters learn.
Shared whispers flee as retreating tides.
Fidelity is for the bright day.
Night's only promise is to transform.

[brandontoh]

I'm still not sure how you got Clint Eastwood. >< The last line of yours should be 'to transform', right? The imagery is nice, but it feels like it's lacking something more... substantial I feel. That only females are mentioned explicitly makes me wonder if it's talking about rape. Yeah. Anyway, I'll be back with my move and poem.

[Todd]

The good, the bad, and the ugly = Eastwood.

Thanks for catching the typo.

[brandontoh]

Jump
Qxe2

Feet planted,
soles push against concrete.

Gather strength, focus on the thighs.
Feel the skin grind against the ground.

Now uproot yourself,
Yes!
Reach out for the castle in the sky,
become part of the wind!

And in the next moment,
wake up.
Humans are not meant to fly.

[Todd]

I very much like this one Brandon. You carry the idea along well. Here's my move:

Regicide

Nxe2

Legend said she slept
on twenty mattresses
for a thousand years,
her skin remaining
like confectioners' sugar.

One day she awoke
to a prince's kiss, or a pea.

She stood above the crowd
on a spiraling balcony
of creamy fondant.

This music box dancer
executed a precise pirouette,
and ignoring their knives
offered them more than bread.

[billy]

can someone break the concept of this thread down for me, i've been reading some of the writing in it and think you're both doing great, i'm just not sure i follow the where and why-fore of it?

[Todd]

can someone break the concept of this thread down for me, i've been reading some of the writing in it and think you're both doing great, i'm just not sure i follow the where and why-fore of it?

Okay, I'll try. Two people play a game of chess. They mark each move with chess notation, and in my case use an online site to follow the moves. With each move they write a poem which is inspired by the move. It doesn't have to openly relate to chess though some of them do. It's mostly a creative exercise to get you writing. The poems are generally lightly edited first drafts. At the end of the game, the players decide if they want to workshop anything.

[brandontoh]

You make the Queen exchange sound too elegant. It lacks the hair pulling and name calling. =x Anyway, I like your poem a lot, although the killing part sort of comes out of nowhere.

Young Love
Bf5

I’ll never learn
that white lies can hurt too.
To protect is an excuse
to alleviate guilt,
and run away.

Not because I can’t,
but because I don’t want to.
I choose instant fireworks
over painstakingly grown flowers.
Both are beautiful,
but one lasts for ages,
the other moments.

I’ll never learn.

[Todd]

Sorry for the delay Brandon. I liked your fireworks vs flowers set up. Here's my move and poem:

Love and the Leidenfrost Effect

Be3

You are a frost kissed rose,
and the bees are snowflakes.

We only believe we've drawn close
in the fogged breath of this lacy vapor.

You are pale, white against white.
So that I cannot remember

the touch of a hand,
the brittle certainty of contact.